Tally HO

It was a deep dark mystical forest where moss grows thick on trees, where sunshine barely lightens, and the dry air’s hard to breathe,

Where vines like arms reach down to touch the world so far below,

And Trolls live under tall stone bridges where fairies fly, to and fro,

Where turtles would ask you enlightening questions and hares like horses, they’d hop about,

A special place in thoughts long past where dreams at night they seemed to shout,

And glisten in the brook that babbled upon the valley floor below,

This place I ventured when still young,

This place called, Tally Ho.

All fantasy in a magical world, where life was turned inside out,

Where legs would walk in reverse and smiles appeared as saddened frowns,

Where answers usually were but questions and questions were but rhymes,

And minutes measured in steps one takes as opposed to being measured in time.

I knew not what I sought down there, and in my thoughts, I didn’t care,

For comes a point when in despair we all ignore life’s silence,

Imagination breeds new thoughts of fantasies unknown at times,

And in an instance, if you dream illusions take you elsewhere.

Now Tally Ho was but a place to venture when ones lonely,

A place where nothing seemed concealed and darkness appeared as light quite ghostly,

Where blind men moved about through touch and the deaf knew only silence,

For the sounds were hushed in winds profound and words remained defiant.

For if you look to Tally Ho expecting to find answers,

Of what you may have thought you knew about those many questions,

You’ll learn quite fast that no one knows the way to the darkened edges,

Concealed you’ll find within your heart what only is imagined,

Of truths, behind those dreams in time, where this really never happens.

So spread your wings and come along to Tally Ho with me,

A place where voices are quite soft, and visions seek eternity,

Where passions reveal one’s deepest thoughts,

And questions are always answered,

A place I knew called Tally Ho in a world which never happened.


Johnny Johnston
Johnny Johnston
An artist/writer as well as graduate of the University of South Carolina with degrees in journalism/20th Century American Literature, and retired senior executive of several international hotel/resort corporations, Johnny is the product of the south having been raised in the ever-changing transient lifestyle of a Carolina coastal resort. A point where he discovered, within his 300-year-old heritage and the world's dramatic social/cultural shifts during the late '60s to early 80’s an ambitious hunger and overwhelming curiosity to touch, see and become a participant in the virtually unlimited possibilities offered to those who wish for and seek life experiences. A journey which when hearing its details initially makes one a bit skeptical, questioning its validity as it is hard to imagine that incidents such as these may have crossed one man’s lifetime. This is the fodder required to step into zones exposing one's personal inner self, which many of his paintings and the words he writes do, openly. An ability to see and hear the tragic, beautiful, accomplished, exciting journey in a life free of inhibitions allowing others the opportunity to live vicariously and become, through his works, a part of its future. His larger works which have been featured in several Colorado and Fredericksburg Texas galleries and resorts have produced a number of collectors and fans. However, over the years, his paintings are mostly viewed by friends, enthusiastic new artist encountered on the streets or a small number of acquaintances he meets when dining in local cafés with his wife.

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    • Thank you Darlene. I agree wholeheartedly. A normal mind requires as much fantasy and imagination as it can possibly absorb! At least I was told that once when visiting a friend in a place that was known as Tally Ho….